AN: This started out as a poem, which may explain some of the weirdness. Not all, of course, but quite a bit of that's just the story. This has the WORST grammar ever, and I am quite aware of that. So please don't tell me about the fragments. If I have a typo, though, that'd be appreciated.

In a hurry 'cause I'm late. Late late late, no time to wait. Not much time to rhyme, either. I have to rush. "One more tardy and you've got a detention, young lady!" Go quickly. Get out of there fast. Ditch the scene, can you dig it? Running, sprinting.

And then you glance at me, and I trip over my own feet, inches from the green school doors. Never seen you before, but I have a feeling you'll own my thoughts for the rest of the day. Don't notice that, don't notice my scraped knees, don't hear you say, "Are you all right?"

But that's because you don't ask. You just point at the door and shrug as the bell rings. You, of course, are on the right side, but I am late.

I get up, brush myself off, adjust my backpack. I'm already late, and I want to hold your gaze.

Get dragged to the principal's office. You glance at me briefly before scuttling away, not wanting to get on Daley's radar. Wise. I don't listen to the principal's lecture. I've heard it all before. Your face in my mind is much more interesting.

I nod in the right places and get out. Act ridiculous the rest of the day, but I survive it.

Later. At my best friend's birthday party. Can't focus. Watch the people dance. Kinda hear someone talking at me. But all I really noticed was you. Talking with her.

Odd that I'm jealous when I don't even know her name… or yours, for that matter. Does that make me a stalker?

…Nah, probably just weird.

Shake myself, try to focus on my friend. Not on you and her. Almost manage. Someone taps my shoulder. Spill my drink down my shirt. Swear, turn, can't speak.

You roll your eyes and hand me your drink.

Person behind me says Diet Coke will get anything off of whites. I'm still not listening. Still can't see anything but you.

It's kind of annoying.

"Don't talk much." Not a question. Not conversation. Just a statement.

"Obviously, you don't know her," drawls my friend.

Kick her, try to smile at you, probably look like a pyscho. "Having a bad day," I mumble.

You nod, smirk. Wish I could kick you for a moment. "Saw the principal escort you in."

You talk in fragments, too. Does it mean we're meant to be together?

… I hope not. I still don't know your name.

We walk outside. There's some inane reason- stars, probably. Can't remember since I still can't think. It'd be dumb to say so, though. You don’t seem much for words either.

Sitting out here on my best friend's front porch, you point at the stars- ha, I was right! "Andromeda," you say, tracing the rocker shape.

Was that a come-on? Don't think so, unless you say you're my Perseus. I hope you won't. It'd ruin things. And you don't, you just look at me.

I falter under that gaze and attempt to contribute. "Orion?" I gesture vaguely.

You snort and move my hand several inches to the left. "An A for effort."

I make a face at you, and you laugh again. "Arrogant," I mutter.

"Clueless," you reply. I don't know you well enough to toss another insult, but you add, "And completely not punctual."

I'm starting to wonder why I let you bring me out here when I notice you're still holding my hand.

And I’m in a hurry again. Can't stay, not with you looking at me like that and me likely looking just the same. Dangerous. It's got to be.

Pull away, stumble down the steps, mumble about curfew.

"It's only seven." You don't bother to look at your watch.

Arrogant, I think again. Don't say it, though. Have to leave. "Danger, Will Robinson, danger!" and all that.

"Wait." You walk after me. Hands in your pockets. Just as cool as you please. Oh, I hate you! You don't rush to catch up. Don't have to, since I can't run. Can barely walk. You catch my hands, hold them, look at me. You say something. I can't hear it. I think I reply, but I can’t hear that either.

You let go, step back, start for the house and that party. Probably that girl, too. I don't even know her! (That I don't know you either doesn't occur to me.)

"Wait!"

Yours was just a word, but when I say it, it's a plea. A prayer for you to understand.

And you do.

Someone leans out of the door, yelling, "It's fifteen degrees! Are you crazy?"

"Yes!" you yell back.

It's that girl.

Before I get a chance to be cold, inside or outside, you put your arms around me and murmur, "She's my sister." I think you add something, but I'm laughing too hard. You look offended, but not really. I put my arms around your neck. "What's your name?" you ask, as if just remember it's something important.

I stop laughing. I knew I was forgetting something.